DISCLAIMER: Still not mine, except for Darby. See Chapter 1 for more details.
AN: I have received a great many kind words requesting that I continue this story. Rest assured, I have every intention of following this to the end. Your reviews have made a hellish time bearable. Thank you.
A few hours later, Shilo found herself standing in the grimy hallway of a grimier apartment building. Graverobber stopped before one of the doors, with the metal numbers 507 screwed into the wood.
"Is this your place?" asked Shilo, curious.
Graverobber chuckled. "I don't keep a place, kid. Come on, you know that."
"It was too much to hope for, I suppose," said Shilo dryly. "Do you like sleeping in Dumpsters or something?"
"People who enjoy sleep don't know what they're missing," said Graverobber sagely. "You'll sleep enough when you're cold in the ground. Why waste your time?" With that, he rapped smartly on the door with his knuckles.
They waited a moment in silence, then Shilo asked, "Who lives here, if you don't?"
"A friend of mine." Graverobber hesitated, thinking. "Well, 'friend' isn't the right word. Associate. Sort of. We've known each other for a while. She works a different market than we do, though."
"She?" said Shilo, raising an eyebrow, but before she could inquire further, a small square Judas window in the door opened. A single blue eye appeared in the hole.
"Oh, just fucking great," said an exasperated-sounding female voice from the other side of the door. "I really don't need your bullshit tonight."
Graverobber grinned.
"Evening, Darby," he said. "I brought company." He wrapped an arm around Shilo's waist and tugged her a little closer, presumably so the eye could see her. Shilo smiled awkwardly and waved her hand a little, feeling very strange to be communing with a door.
"Good for you," said the female voice, sounding bored this time. "How is this my problem?"
"Just let us in, already. I'll give you a hit if you're a good girl."
The eye disappeared from the window to be replaced by a gloved middle finger pointing straight up. Then the peephole door slammed shut.
Shilo blinked. She glanced up at Graverobber, who looked slightly bemused. She began, "Maybe we should—"
But there was a mechanical click from the door, presumably a lock being turned. Graverobber tried the handle, and it moved without resistance. He smiled down at Shilo and ushered her forward as he opened the door. "I promised you a shower, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did," Shilo muttered. She made to take a step inside, but Graverobber caught her wrist and pulled her close for a moment.
"Darby's not a nice sight," he murmured in her ear. "Don't let it surprise you." Shilo stared at him, not quite sure what to make of that, then went into the apartment and took stock of her new surroundings.
The apartment was small, seeming to consist of only two rooms. Facing her was a large window with a sliding glass door, which opened onto a fire escape and view of Largo Towers in the distance. Shilo still didn't have much of a grasp on the city's geography, but gathered that she must be towards the outskirts. The apartment was mainly dominated by a narrow double bed, which jutted out from a wall. To the right was a small kitchenette and a door which she assumed led to a bathroom. There was a big chest in one corner, shut with a padlock, but lying on top of it was a large and dangerous-looking revolver.
Shilo's attention was captured, however, by the woman standing by the window. She stood with her back to her visitors, and almost all Shilo could see of her was that she had long red hair, she was quite stocky, and she stood a good two inches shorter than Shilo. The woman turned only when the door snicked shut.
Shilo was glad Graverobber had warned her, but it still took all her composure not to gasp at the sight of the woman's face. The left side of her face was nice-looking, but the right side was crisscrossed with a number of scars. Her right eyebrow had been cleaved in half, and the right eye was nothing but a milky orb. The longest scar went all the way to the corner of her mouth. They looked like blade wounds. A seriously botched surgery or a survived attack? Shilo had a feeling it was the latter. She shuddered to think of the kind of anger it would take to do so much damage.
The woman must have caught some of Shilo's shock, for she gave a grim smile. "Not too pretty, am I?"
"I'm sorry," said Shilo quickly. "I just—I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean—I-I was just—"
"Oh, stop looking so scared, for fuck's sake," said the woman irritably. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
"D, I realize it's hard for you, because you're a horrible person," said Graverobber coolly, "but try to be nice."
"Bite me." The woman sighed, then focused her one good eye on Shilo. "You the Wallace kid?"
"I'm Shilo."
"Whatever. Call me Darby, or D. And if you swipe anything, I swear to God you'll regret it," she added loudly to Graverobber, who had been rummaging through some of the kitchen cabinets. He winked roguishly at her, and Darby glared. She crossed to the chest and sat down on it, picking up the revolver as she did so. She turned the heavy gun over and over in her hands as she observed her two guests.
"How goes it?" Graverobber asked, leaving the kitchen to lean against the bathroom door.
Darby shrugged. "It goes."
"Business moving all right?"
"Fine, not that it's any of yours. I got a client meeting in an hour."
"A buyer?" said Graverobber.
"Potential buyer, anyway. I think I got him convinced."
"Then you won't mind if we crash here for the night?" asked Graverobber swiftly. Shilo had to admire his nerve, and inwardly sighed with relief at the prospect of an actual bed. Although . . . only one bed . . .
Darby rolled her eye and shrugged. "Long as it's not trashed in the morning, I don't give a damn. But you didn't come all this way on the off I'd be out tonight. Why are you here, really? Hiding from the cops? Or from Amber, more like?
"He needs to shower," said Shilo simply. "Well, we both do, but he needs it more."
"Wouldn't hurt," said Darby, looking Graverobber up and down shrewdly.
"Everyone's a critic," Graverobber muttered darkly. He carefully unlatched his satchel and dropped it on the bed lightly. Shilo could hear the clink of needles and Zydrate vials from its depths. His coat was next, deposited neatly beside his bag. He reached up and pulled a leather thong from his hair, so that it all hung loose around his face and shoulders. Then he casually stripped off his shirt.
Shilo's jaw dropped at the sight of him shirtless. She'd never seen a man in any state of undress; Nathan had been intensely private about such matters, even preferring to provide her with books on human sexuality rather than discuss it with her himself. The diagrams in her books had been clinical, where this was almost shockingly real. She could finally understand and appreciate Graverobber's bragging, how he claimed he could have any woman on Crucifixus.
She totally got that now.
With some disjoined part of her mind, Shilo knew she was staring, but it didn't seem very important at the moment. Graverobber wasn't exactly handsome, even half-naked, but he certainly wasn't bad-looking, and he had a kind of . . . charisma that made up for the lack of conventionality. His chest and back were well-muscled, as were his arms, and covered by a light dusting of hair. Shilo would have thought she would find that unattractive, but just now the waxed heroes on romance stepbacks seemed bland and unimpressive compared to him. He bore more than a few scars, souvenirs of a life lived outside the law. He caught her eye, grinned lasciviously, and started to unbuckle his belt.
"God, you're such a freak," snapped Darby, holding up a hand to shield her face from him. Just get in there, would you? Graverobber grinned and laughed broadly, then opened the door and stepped into the bathroom.
"Door's unlocked, if you'd care to join," Graverobber called out to them before he shut the door.
"Fat chance, you fucking perv," Darby muttered.
Shilo stared at the bathroom door. Presently she heard the water start to run, and even imagined she heard the clatter as his belt hit the floor. What would he look like naked? The door was unlocked, after all—
"Feel like putting your eyes back in?" asked Darby, sounding vaguely amused.
Shilo started, then turned pointedly away from the door. "My eyes were in," she told the older woman, attempting a certainty she didn't really feel. "Completely—totally in."
"You just keep telling yourself that."
Shilo sighed. She didn't know this woman, not at all, but she wasn't about to give her the wrong impression. "We're not—we haven't—"
"Come over here, okay? You're on my blind side." Shilo was confused a moment, then realized Darby couldn't see her where she was. Apparently half-blindness had more disadvantages than the loss of depth perception. Shilo left her lonely corner and took a seat on the end of the bed, laying her bag beside her and facing the older woman.
"How'd you run into Graves, anyway?" asked Darby curiously. "Word was you disappeared after the Opera. Whole city's been looking for you."
Shilo nodded. "He found me a few days ago. I was . . . I was in trouble. I would have died if he hadn't . . . he saved my life.
Darby looked surprised. "You're incredibly lucky," she told the girl seriously. "No, I mean that. Graverobber does not go around saving people. He must really like you. He would've left anyone else to die. You are incredibly, incredibly lucky."
Shilo knew it. She had a feeling Latch and Nicky were going to haunt her dreams for a long time. God, if Graverobber hadn't—no. No good could come of thinking about that. The important thing was that she was safe now.
Well, more or less. She didn't know Darby, didn't know if she could be trusted. Graverobber seemed to respect her, so that probably meant she was okay. But still . . . Shilo eyed the gun in her hands, and glanced at the scars on her face. The woman looked like she could be very dangerous if provoked.
Darby looked like she was summing Shilo up in exactly the same way Shilo was summing her up. They sat there in silence for several long minutes, neither of them willing to break it. Then Darby sighed, leaning back against the wall. She put her revolver down on the trunk next to her, and picked up a pack of cigarettes sitting on the windowsill. Pulling a lighter out of her pocket, she held a cig between her lips and lit it. Shilo watched the process with interest; she'd never been around cigarettes before. Nathan would never allow anything potentially harmful coming anywhere near his daughter. The smoke was thick and pungent, and smelled more herbal than Shilo was expecting. Cloves, maybe?
"So . . . what do you do?" Shilo prompted Darby, tiring of the silence.
Darby gestured to the revolver. "I run guns, mostly," she said around the butt in her mouth. "Sometimes I go after bounties, but not too often. Bounty hunting's not nearly as glamorous as it sounds, and most of 'em I won't tough on principle. I have standards. Not many of them, granted, but still."
Shilo smiled in spite of herself. "Drug dealers and gunrunners. What wonderful company I'm keeping."
"Hey, this is my place you're in, and I know my way around a gun. Do the math, kid."
Shilo sighed again. 'Kid' again. First Graverobber, now Darby. "Why in the hell can no one use my name?" she asked, more weary of it than annoyed. "You, Graverobber—"
"Get over it," said Darby brusquely. "And if you've got more than two functioning brain cells, you won't use your real name. It can be dangerous."
"I know about the Largos' bounty," Shilo began, but Darby shook her head.
"Not talking about that, though it's definitely trouble. Names can be currency in this city. You think Graves in there is the only one who doesn't use his? Anyone aiming to survive more than three seconds has an alias. You think my real name's 'Darby'?"
"It's not?" asked Shilo, intrigued. "What is it?"
"I'm sure as hell not telling you. I don't even know you. Look, knowing a name . . . makes you even. It means you're on the same side. Means you trust each other, more than anyone else. There's only two people alive who know my name. One of 'em's me, and the other's in there." Darby waved the cigarette, trailing smoke, at the bathroom door.
Shilo was now very surprised. Graverobber? Out of all the people on this island, all the people in the world, he was the one she trusted above all others? Him? The notorious Zydrate dealer?
"So, do you know his real name?" she asked.
Darby shrugged. "Yeah. But I'm not telling. That's his business. If and when he wants you to know, he'll tell you himself."
Shilo's insides seemed to shrivel a little bit. Well, Graverobber had said he and Darby were friends . . . maybe they were better friends than she'd initially thought.
"How do you know each other?" asked Shilo cautiously. She wasn't sure she wanted the answer.
"Been a long time since we met."
That wasn't an answer, and it just made Shilo feel worse. Her mind was still working through the new image of Graverobber sans shirt, and more and more images came, unbidden and unwanted. Graverobber and Darby, together, doing things she really didn't want to think about. Somehow it made her incredibly uncomfortable to think of him like that. She didn't want to think of him like that.
And yet . . .
What the hell is wrong with me?
Something of Shilo's discomfort must have shown on her face, because Darby actually snorted with laughter. "Holy Christ, not like that," she chortled. "Trust me. He's not my type and I'm not his."
Shilo was relieved, and immediately hated herself. I am so pathetic.
"What's your type?" she asked Darby, more to get away from her embarrassment than anything else.
"Nonexistent." Shilo giggled, but quickly stopped when she saw Darby wasn't joking. "I'm serious, kid. I have no type. Sex is permanently off my menu."
Shilo waited for elaboration, but none was forthcoming. She couldn't imagine what would make a person swear off sex forever, but she had a feeling it had to do with Darby's scars. God, what happened to her?
"How did—I mean, what—how did your face get like that?" asked Shilo, very shyly.
She expected Darby to be angry she'd brought it up, or to shut off from the conversation. But Darby didn't seem fazed at all; in fact, it seemed like she'd been expecting the question. She took another drag of her cigarette and answered easily. Maybe a little too easily.
"I told Amber I thought she was fat," said Darby casually. "Oddly enough, she didn't like that."
Shilo knew she was lying, but was smart enough not to press it. Everyone had secrets they needed to keep; this must be one of Darby's.
"Why don't you have it fixed?" Shilo asked her. "Or at least fix your eye? I mean, can't you have surgery?"
Darby snorted derisively. "I'm one-hundred-percent me, and I intend on staying that way. Can't pay for it, anyway. You should know all about what happens to defaulters in this city."
Shilo did know. Not a day went by that she didn't think about Nathan's secret life, no matter how much she wanted to bury it.
"Besides, it's not that bad," said Darby lazily as she took another drag from her cigarette. "Keeps the Masks away, at any rate."
"The Masks?" asked Shilo, confused.
Darby gave her a steely look. "You met the original, kid. Don't tell me you've forgotten."
Shilo had no idea what she meant. The original what? The original Mask? What were Masks? But then she remembered Pavi Largo and his stolen faces. The original . . . that must mean . . .
Darby nodded, seeing the progression of thoughts on Shilo's face. "The Largos have always been trendsetters," she said quietly. "Some trends are worse than others."
Shilo was keen to get off the topic of Pavi Largo's eccentricities—or any of the Largos, for that matter. She accepted that Darby wouldn't tell her much about herself or her relationship with Graverobber—except that it apparently wasn't sexual—but there was one issue she wanted cleared up.
"How did you meet Graverobber?" Shilo asked Darby again.
Darby was silent. She didn't look at Shilo, but turned to stare out the window, towards the rest of Crucifixus. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts. The scarred woman gazed out at the city below her, cracking her knuckles absentmindedly. Both arms were gloved in leather up past her elbows. Shilo noticed that the two smallest fingers on her left hand were crooked, bent in on themselves, as if she couldn't straighten them. Shilo was on the verge of repeating her question when Darby spoke.
"I will show you fear in a handful of dust," she said very quietly.
"What?"
Darby turned her head to look at Shilo, fixing her with both eyes, the blind and the seeing. She paused a moment longer, then said, "I—"
"Shower's all yours, kid," called Graverobber. Shilo jumped what felt like a foot, and even Darby started a bit. He was standing there, fully clothed except for coat and satchel, hair damp and tousled. He was apparently unaware of his poor timing—or maybe he was completely aware of it, and just relishing his ability to spoil a moment. The latter seemed more likely, given his cat-who-ate-the-canary smirk.
Shilo didn't want to give him any satisfaction if he could avoid it. She gathered up her bag and hurried toward the bathroom. As she passed, Graverobber reached out to grab her waist, but Shilo managed to sidestep him and made it inside. It was steamy and humid. As she shut the door behind her, she heard Graverobber asking Darby nonchalantly if she had anything halfway decent to eat, and then complain about the water pressure in the shower.
Shilo stared at her face in the fogged mirror, then removed her wig and laid it on the vanity—she'd have to wash it separately. She ran her fingers over her scalp, feeling for any hairs that might start to come in once her body was unpolluted by her father's medicine. There were none.
Her skin was clean, unblemished, unmarked. But the mirror had a long crack down the center of it, splitting her image in two. In their own ways, she and Darby were both scarred.
Graverobber and Darby stood on the fire escape together while Shilo took her shower, him leaning his back against the railing and her resting her elbows on it. Darby was smoking a second cigarette. She'd offered one to Graverobbr, but he'd refused, saying that a dealer never used his own product.
"This isn't Z," said Darby. "It's an herbal cigarette. And you don't even sell these."
"It's principle."
"It's moronic, is what it is."
After that they'd lapsed into a comfortable silence. This, thought Graverobber, was the nice thing about D. No matter how rude they were to each other or how many times they insisted they were not and never would be friends, they got along. As long as they stayed good and far away from that danger zone, the thing that by unspoken law was never to be discussed, they were fine.
Darby was just what he needed right now. It was such a relief to be around someone who didn't feel the need to fill the void with constant conversation, someone so new to the world she was little better off than a newborn. Someone who didn't still believe, mo matter how hard she tried to hide it, that the universe had some semblance of order to it. Someone who didn't turn him on just by breathing.
But, to be honest, he liked all that about Shilo.
"What do you think?" Graverobber asked his companion.
Darby took another drag of her cigarette, inspected the butt, and decided there wasn't enough left to smoke. She pitched it into the alley below. She did not reply.
"Well?" asked Graverobber pointedly.
"You expect me to dignify that with a response?" Darby asked lazily.
Graverobber gave her the finger. She responded in kind.
"Seriously, though," said Graverobber. "The kid. What do you think?"
"You mean about her in general or something more specific?"
"Just . . . just her. What's your take?"
Darby shook her head.
"She's clueless," she said. Graverobber realized Darby was being truthful, not unkind. There was no easy way around it; Shilo simply didn't know much about the way the world worked.
"She doesn't even begin to understand how much trouble she's in," Darby continued. "Word of that bounty is everywhere, and it's only a matter of time before some sick fuck tries to cash in. The hunters in this city won't care that she's practically a baby. And chances are the Largos'll raise the bounty, keep people interested. Amber won't give up until she's dead. As long as the kid's alive, she's a threat to Amber's power, and a threat to Amber is a threat to GeneCo, and in case you've forgotten, GeneCo rules pretty much the whole fucking world. There's no way she'll survive on her own out here."
Graverobber glowered darkly. The thought of that bounty just made him even more pissed off at the Largos, and at Amber in particular. He hadn't heard a word of her on the streets the last couple of days; he supposed that now that she was in charge of GeneCo, she had access to as much lab-grade Zydrate as she wanted; no need to seek him out for street Z.
"The kid's held her own so far," Graverobber protested. "She survived the first night. She survived the Opera, for fuck's sake, and Christ knows that was a bloodbath. She took out one of the thugs who assaulted her. And she's learning—she's actually learning faster than I did."
"She's also older than you were," Darby pointed out.
Graverobber shook his head. "She's tougher than you give her credit for."
"That's not the point," Darby snapped. "She's fine right now, when you're looking over her shoulder. But as soon as you're gone, she's got to grow up fast or she's not growing up at all."
"I'm not leaving her."
"Don't lie to me. Of course you are. I know you."
"I'm not leaving." Graverobber met Darby's eye hard. "I made a promise."
Darby stared at him. "You don't make promises."
"Shows how much you know," he retorted.
Darby's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?" she asked. "She's with you for good?"
Graverobber shrugged. "I like her," he said noncommittally. And he did. He didn't see what the big deal was; he liked her innocence and her strength and her slightly twisted sense of humor. All personality clashes and disagreements aside, they got along, and they worked well together. And if seeing her smile or feeling her slight little body against his turned him on, he was only human, after all.
Darby gaped at him for a good two minutes. He could practically hear the wheels turning in her head, as she tried to reconcile the Graverobber, Criminal At Large, with someone who would willingly take an orphaned girl under his wing.
"Whatever," she said finally. "Not my problem. Just know that there's a special place in hell for you if you do to her what I know you want to do to her."
"I have my morals, D," said Graverobber, mock-offended.
"But those morals don't prevent you copping a feel, do they?" she asked archly. He smiled but said nothing.
Darby rolled her eye. "Whatever," she said again. Then, straightening, she walked back into her apartment. She picked up her revolver from the chest and slipped it into a holster at her waist. "Don't trash my place," she called over her shoulder.
"You're leaving?"
"Got a buyer, remember?" Darby indicated her gun. Graverobber nodded. The joys of the underground market.
"Lock the door when you leave; I won't be back till tomorrow," Darby added. She picked up a rucksack and slung it over her shoulder. She cast a glance around, decided she had everything she needed, then unlocked the door and stepped into the hall. She pulled the door shut after her, but a second later she opened it back up again and poked her head inside.
"Special place in hell," Darby reminded him. Graverobber laughed. She glared and left for good.
Not ten seconds later, Shilo opened the door of the bathroom, coming out in a billow of steam. Her hair hung wetly down her back and she scrubbed at her face with a towel. Her skin was flushed from heat.
"Is Darby gone?" she asked.
"Yeah," said Graverobber as he reentered the apartment. "We got the place all to ourselves. Just you and me, kid."
Shilo blushed. Graverobber smiled. Score.
After a few months of grueling work, I've returned. I can't guarantee updates with any kind of regularity, but I will try not to have such a long period elapse next time. It's good to be writing again. Comments/constructive criticism would be lovely; flames will be forwarded to the ninja hit squad.